The Rake and the Wallflower (6 page)

The explanation relaxed him.

Last evening had been a comedy of errors arising from his own poor judgment. He’d attended Lady Debenham’s ball when he was too exhausted to think straight, then broken his own inflexible rule against speaking to innocents. Something about that artist intrigued him, so she’d remained in his mind long after he’d joined the card game – a fact he’d not told Nick. Distracted, he’d played poorly and failed to notice Alderson’s mistake. He had best clear the lady out of his head before it happened again.

Relief eased his tension, proving how much Nick’s fears had bothered him. An enemy willing to poison his glass in a private club was worrisome. The footpad already made him feel too vulnerable.

* * * *

By the next day Gray felt well enough to attend the Oxbridge ball. According to Justin, rumors that he was dying gave Lady Horseley an excuse to revive every exaggerated tale and offer new ones as well. She was as adamant as ever, determined to drive him from town.

So he must appear before she convinced people that he was Satan incarnate. Ostracism would unbalance his life. His estate provided peace and the privacy to pursue his interests. His business offered challenges and occasional excitement. But he also needed contact with his own class, beyond what he could find at the clubs.

Of course, going out would be embarrassing, he conceded as he chose a jacket that wouldn’t clash with his mottled eye. The men would make sport of his bruises and offer to teach him the manly art of self-defense. Some ladies would disapprove him flaunting the injury in public. Others would shower him with unwanted sympathy.

But half an hour later, he handed his greatcoat to a footman. Countering Lady Horseley was more important than pride.

“On your feet already?” Connelaugh laughed, slapping Gray on the back. He was a bear of a man, as jovial as a drunkard and with the manners of an ill-trained dog. “Rumor has you at death’s door.”

“Rumor exaggerates, as usual.” Gray suppressed a wince as Connelaugh’s hand slammed into one of his deeper bruises.

“You mean you weren’t robbed of your entire fortune?”

“Hardly. The rogue caught me by surprise” —he pointed to his eye—“then stole my purse, but it contained only two shillings, sixpence and a modest vowel he has no hope of redeeming.” His tone implied that the joke was on his attacker. But he’d been fond of the watch he’d lost. It had been a gift from his grandfather shortly before the man died on the guillotine. Rage burned in his breast. When he found the culprit, he would see the man transported.

But for now he made light of the incident, enduring endless questions about the encounter. Some joked, others offered sympathy, and a few seemed disgruntled that he appeared none the worse for the experience. Since those were the same people who wished he’d left the country after Miss Turner’s death, he ignored them.

An hour later, he regretted his decision to face society. A thousand candles burned overhead, flickering in the breeze raised by a hundred dancers. The uneven light made his head swim until only leaning negligently against a pillar kept him upright. Echoes of voices and music melded with his pounding heart into a dull roar. Sweat soaked his cravat.

But weakness wasn’t his worst problem. He’d been so intent on hiding his pain that he’d forgotten his other danger. Miss Derrick and Miss Huntsley were at the theater tonight, which was why he’d chosen this ball. But they weren’t the only threats.

That blonde stood twenty feet away, her lids fluttering enticingly over the top of her fan. He hadn’t considered her a problem, for she was a beauty with a large court of admirers that should have kept her too busy to bother him. Now she swiftly dispersed her court, then headed in his direction.

He swore.

“Who is the beauty in the yellow gown?” he asked Nick. A name would let Jaynes discover her plans in the future.

“The blonde passing Lady Jersey?”

“That’s the one.”

“Miss Seabrook. I mentioned her yesterday. Her brother is a baron with an estate in Devonshire, and her older sister married Rockhurst. He is sponsoring her and a younger sister this Season.” He glanced around. “I don’t see Lady Rockhurst at the moment. Do you need an introduction?”

“No. Diamonds are usually too selfish for my taste, so wrapped in their own wishes that they care little for others.”

“You always were partial to bluestockings.”

Gray shrugged. “At least they can converse intelligently.” Miss Seabrook drew closer. Her mouth stretched into a practiced smile, but her eyes gleamed with avarice. “No doubt about it, she has her eye on me. Would you distract her? I refuse to tarnish another reputation.” When Nick nodded, Gray headed for the card room. He was too dizzy to deal with problems tonight.

Lord Oxbridge was in deep play with a dozen other gamesters, none of whom noticed him. And just as well. His vision was fading in and out, his head whirled, and sounds had merged into the pulsing echo that presaged a swoon. He should have heeded the doctor’s advice and stayed abed for a week. But it was too late — for everything. He had to lie down before he collapsed. His carriage would not do. He would never find it in time.

He left the card room by the other door. The hallway led to the ladies’ retiring room and then to the family quarters. They were not open to guests, but he no longer cared. He would never hear the end of it if he collapsed in public.

Black spots were crowding his eyes by the time he staggered into Oxbridge’s library. Moisture beaded his brow. With his last ounce of strength, he closed the door and collapsed on a couch.

Time passed. The dizziness gradually faded, steadying the ceiling fresco. Not until he shifted into a more comfortable position did he realize that the room was occupied. His artist was sitting at a table.

He swore.

“You should have stayed in bed another day, Lord Grayson,” she said calmly. “Skipping a ball would damage your credit less than swooning in public.”

“Hiding again?” He kept his tone light. She knew his identity now, though she made no move to flee.

“Not exactly. Lord Oxbridge mentioned a folio of animal prints, but he was interrupted before I could ask to see them. I hope he won’t mind.”

Gray raised his head. The table was littered with natural history books and prints. He recognized the folio. The hand-tinted drawings showed animals in their natural state, with more detailed backgrounds than most artists used, more detailed even than the bird illustrations his friend John Selby drew — he’d urged the fellow more than once to publish a collection.

He dropped his head back on the couch. “He won’t mind, but your reputation will suffer if anyone finds you here. This part of the house is closed.”

“Which is why you came here to swoon.” She nodded.

He started to deny it, but closed his mouth without a word. She knew the truth. How could she not? He’d staggered in half dead and continued to recline despite her presence. She was right. He should have stayed home. All of society would know the tale by morning.

She shook her head. “You are in terrible shape, Lord Grayson. Your face reveals every thought. But relax. I won’t mention your foolishness, though you should return home as soon as you can remain on your feet.”

Embarrassment heated his face. “You have the advantage of me,” he said through clenched teeth. “We’ve not been introduced.”

She blushed. “Forgive me. Miss Mary Seabrook, Lady Rockhurst’s sister.”

A jag of fear produced another surge of dizziness. Was she also stalking him? But reason quickly returned. She could not have planned this meeting — or the one behind Lady Debenham’s potted palms. No one could have predicted he would turn up in either hideaway.

Nor was she like her sister. Average looks. Simple gown. Matter-of-fact tone. And a bluestocking, unless his instinct was completely gone. One of the books she had gathered was a natural history of Kent. Another was a volume on birds, written in the most turgid prose he’d ever encountered.

“Surely they warned you to stay away from me.” The moment the words were out, he cursed himself. The beating must have loosened his brain.

“Of course.” A smile lifted the corner of her mouth as she faced him. “You are an ogre of the first water, sir. Merely speaking with you will tarnish my reputation, cancel my voucher to Almack’s, and call my virtue into question. You are a hairsbreadth from being cast into eternal perdition with only Blackthorn as company.”

“Ouch.”

“The view is not universal, of course. Lady Westlake defends you with great vigor — she is grateful for a past kindness — and others suspect the tales are exaggerated. I prefer to judge for myself — not a difficult chore since fate seems eager to throw us together.”

He nodded. “You could always leave.”

“I see no need.”

“Why?”

A small frown crossed her forehead. Intrigued, for she seemed to be giving his question serious thought, he rolled onto his side, propped his head on one hand, and waited.

“Curiosity, I suppose,” she said at length. “My instincts are usually accurate, and you do not strike me as a blackguard. I know that gossip usually exaggerates and is sometimes downright false.”

His jaw dropped in astonishment. “You are young to have learned such wisdom.”

“Lessons can come at any age.” Pain flashed in her eyes. “My eldest sister once suffered a malicious attack on her credibility. The resulting censure spilled onto the entire family. Only luck and considerable effort saved her reputation. The incident taught me the folly of believing everything one hears.”

“Are you speaking of Lady Rockhurst?”

She nodded. “Rockhurst unmasked the perpetrator. It is how they met.”

“When was this? I’ve heard nothing of such a campaign.”

“Not surprising. It was a country matter that did not reach town.” She shrugged. “But what is the truth in your own case? You seem kind.”

Even more surprising than the question was her tone. No condemnation. No fury. Only curiosity and the surety that he could explain. He shocked himself by answering.

“Like Lady Rockhurst, I did nothing. I suppose you’ve heard the stories.”

“Of course. Those who enjoy scandal delight in warning newcomers to avoid people like you — strictly for our own good; any pleasure they derive from the exercise is purely incidental.”

Her tone made him chuckle.

“You are accused of jilting Miss Irwin, then ruining Miss Turner, who ultimately did away with herself. I presume that last claim is true, for no one suggests suicide lightly.”

He nodded.

“Everyone agrees on those charges. Other tales are more nebulous — the unnamed innocents you supposedly ruined, suspicions that your fortune was acquired dishonestly, hints that you are a French spy.”

“None of those have any basis in fact,” he snapped.

“So I thought. I distrust any tale that does not include specifics or that changes significantly from one teller to the next. But what of the others?”

“Miss Irwin arrived in London with little training in the ways of society. Thus she managed to annoy or insult a great many influential ladies, including Lady Beatrice. She was poised to do the same to Lady Jersey when I deflected her.”

“How?”

He cautiously sat up. The room swung twice, then steadied. “Lady Jersey can be delightful if you show her proper respect, but she does not tolerate criticism, particularly of the subscription balls at Almack’s.”

“Rockhurst warned us about that. Even Laura dares say nothing about stale cakes and uneven floors.” She shifted in her chair. “So you prevented Miss Irwin from taking the lady to task?”

“Exactly. It was a minor incident, but it drew her attention. Over the following month, I danced with her three times and exchanged greetings on two other occasions. Each meeting took place in a large gathering at which I spent time with a score of other females, so I was astonished to open the
News
one morning and see our betrothal announcement.”

“Good heavens! What on earth was her father thinking? You cannot have approached him.”

“Of course not. I was barely four-and-twenty and had no interest in settling down. I had never called on her or sought her out in any way.” Fury still burned whenever he thought of Irwin’s treachery. However, Mary’s face held so much compassion that an unfamiliar ache settled into his chest.

She shook her head. “It must have been a terrible shock. What did you do?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “I immediately called on Irwin to demand an explanation. He had the nerve to call me a liar. That’s when I realized the greedy bast— He and his daughter were conspiring to attach my fortune. They had hoped to compromise me, but I had refused to leave a ballroom with her. So they concocted a bolder scheme.”

“Everyone understands his greed,” she reported calmly. “He was recently caught cheating at cards. But the current theory is that you paid him to deny a betrothal.”

It was a twist he’d not heard before, not that it helped much. “I did, in a way,” he admitted, “though not a farthing changed hands. When I demanded details of our supposed courtship, he tried to bluff, reeling off a list of secret rendezvous. I made him write them down — places, dates, exact times — then informed him that I could prove his list false. He could either retract the announcement or stand trial for extortion. I could produce plenty of witnesses.”

“So you paid him by not filing charges?”

He nodded.

“He cannot be very bright,” she noted.

“Definitely not. To hide his own complicity, he blamed everything on his daughter and vowed to send her home. But she attended one more ball, where she enacted her own retribution by accusing me of seduction.”

“She sounds less bright than her father.”

He actually laughed. “True. Irwin was furious, creating a scene that became the talk of the Season — he probably feared I would have him arrested for breaking our agreement. The incident ruined her beyond repair, of course. Both father and daughter disappeared the next morning. I heard she married a farmer not long afterward.”

“So why do people blame you?”

“That began the following year.” He sighed. “Miss Irwin convinced me that protecting people from their own stupidity was dangerous — and impossible anyway. Until then I had tried to set the nervous and unprepared at ease.”